


Nobody Likes Yukon

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Angel Family, Dark Crack, Flowers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> The more Gadreel thought about it, the less he understood why he was driving to begin with - what was his purpose and where was his destination were both questions he didn't know how to answer.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Likes Yukon

**Author's Note:**

> Network prompt: flowers.

* * *

 

Gadreel stopped the car by taking his foot off the pedal and leaning back in the seat. The remaining speed died quickly with gravel grinding against the wheels, and the angel's hands slid down the steering wheel's sticky surface and fell onto his lap instead as the afternoon sun kept blazing from the sky above. It had been much too long by then: the road never seemed to end, and neither did the day. The more Gadreel thought about it, the less he understood why he was there to begin with - what was his purpose and where was his destination were both questions he didn't know how to answer.

There was a pressing need to drive on, however, and he'd heeded that feeling for a long while. Now he no longer could; no gut feeling could push him into crossing countries, and the amnesia only ever seemed to grow worse.

With a heavy sigh, the angel slid out of the seat and out of the car entirely, slamming the door closed behind him although he was certain no other car would drive past. None had so far, and it had been hours.  
Beside the road was a vast, vast meadow, like a wild prairie with flowers, and it had caught Gadreel's attention early on with the brightness of the colours and the light that the blossoms seemed to emit somehow, as if a mist lingered upon them. The air was hot (too hot, enough to make a man sweat his clothes wet, like an Arizona heatwave) but the grass was lush and green and none of the flowers seemed to suffer of it either. Dust barely rose at the angel's feet as he stepped off the road, crossed the ditch between it and the meadow, and entered the knee-high grass with his feet, legs and hands always hitting one flower or another on both sides.

It couldn't be a field: there were too many different kinds of flowers in the same place, and nothing grew in order. There were weeds, tall hay that had no particular use, and plain grass in such an abundance that a field with that much of it would have been very badly cared for indeed. Further away the tall grass grew shorter and the tall tulips and roses and lilies gave way to small flowers: clovers, forget-me-nots, starflowers and anemones grew there amongst others, and the grass was alike to that in many of the parks that Gadreel had passed through after falling, short and strong and out of place here in the middle of the unkempt meadow.  
In that spot he settled on his knees and, out of a whim, picked some of the small flowers; it felt like the right thing to do, for whatever reason, and he kept going until he had his fist full. Then, after choosing some of the taller wild flowers to accompany the bunch, he tied it all together with braided hay and, upon standing up, still had no understanding of why he'd done all of that. His steps back to the car were oddly heavy and the palms and fingers of his hands were sticky with the moisture that had dripped out of the freshly picked plants. He placed the bunch upon the dashboard and started the car again; the road began slowly passing underneath him like a river flowing to the opposite direction and somehow still carrying him where he needed to go.

 

* * *

 

The road did end, eventually. Sun had taken a turn towards dusk, but the sky was yet deep blue and the world well illuminated, if already promising a golden glow in its radiant colours. The road ended to another road, a road that continued seemingly endlessly to both left and right and which Gadreel had never seen in his life before. He chose to turn right for no reason; the direction headed for a thick of trees in the distance, and tall mountains loomed beyond, shrouded in blue.  
He crossed a wooden bridge over a rocky river, and past that, finally, he saw something that bore resemblance to the things that usually heralded settlements, villages, even cities: a park. It was set by a lake's edge and the parking lot was empty as any other place, but Gadreel stopped there anyway. The glaring lack of everything of note around him and most importantly inside him made him nervous, and driving around aimlessly did nothing to easen that feeling. His legs felt stiff and unwilling as he straightened them: another sudden urge, like the kind that had driven him into picking flowers, he leaned back in to take a single forget-me-not out of the fold and pushed it behind his ear, the tiny flowers hanging down and tickling at his face when he moved.  
  
The air had turned cooler; not that an angel much cared. The slam of the car's door echoed in the forest that already grew here around the cleared area, but Gadreel felt unthreatened by the announcement of his presence. No one else seemed to exist here.  
He was so lulled in his expectations of no company that when he saw a man standing right there not too far from him, he jumped and straightened up and froze on spot almost comically. The next realisation came soon enough: this was no man. This was another angel, appearing in a vessel just like he was, with a bright halo and, by God, wings that spanned lengths with brilliant feathers and no signs of burns on them anywhere. For a fleeting moment Gadreel feared it was Metatron - who else had wings like that? But he soon realised it couldn't have been: the wings were much larger, much stronger than Metatron's, and the angel themselves had to be a seraph, one far outranking Metatron.  
As he stood there, seemingly unable to decide what to do in the situation, the other angel approached him calmly. He had the power position; Gadreel lacked the very basic understanding of the situation and stood lower on the ground, as the slight hillside had grown ever since the parking lot to the direction from which the other was now coming towards him. It was almost embarrassing, especially when Gadreel did not know who the other angel was, so there he stood, anxious and confused and unaware why another angel would be there in the first place when the whole world otherwise seemed to be void of life beyond that of plants and birds.

"Brother," he called out uncomfortably as the other kept approaching him, his body shifting to retreat if the need would rise, "May I know your name?"

The other angel stopped, lips twitching; he watched Gadreel for a longer while, vision dropping to his leather boots and climbing up along his long legs towards the hem of the hoodie, along the white zipper up, and by the neck to his eyes where he stalled, examining, before finishing the run and returning to some detail or another for a moment's time.  
Then, finally, he seemed satisfied, like he knew enough to proceed.

"You've sent many here before you," the angel spoke, ignoring the question; "Gadreel."

Gadreel's head jerked up: his name had that effect on him. If he'd felt nervous before, it was nothing in comparison to how he now felt, and he stepped back, blade ready to slide into his palm for defense.  
"I do not follow," he stated, having understood none of what the other had said to him.

A smile lingered upon the male's lips and he nodded.  
"It is the same for each of us when we arrive. The loss of form, reshaping, reincarnation takes its toll on one's memory. You will, in time, of course recall all that you knew, all that you saw. But for now, you are blind. I would ask of you only that you do not push the progress. You would regret it when you remember. Let it come easy to you."

None of what the other angel was saying made any sense, but Gadreel let it slip, taking the advice; he'd refrain, for now, from trying to remember. He hadn't felt much of an urge to do so before, so it was not hard for him to not scratch the itch that didn't exist in him - yet.

"As for who I am," the angel chuckled dryly, "I am who you are not, and who you will never be. My name is known to you as yours is to me, but we have not met before. I am Ezekiel."

A flash of pain like the sting of a red-hot poker crossed Gadreel's grace. He felt both ashamed and suspicious as he returned the one step he'd retreated just to look at the other more carefully. Aside standing a powerful seraph, he did not carry any telltale signs that he could have been recognised by, but no angel did. The only thing Gadreel had to rely upon was his knowledge of others: he'd been imprisoned for much longer than many of them had even existed. Ezekiel, he knew, was younger than him; a great hero of Heaven whose name was respected in almost the same way as his was despised, one of the soldiers who'd marched through Hell and hunted the multitudes of Knights with the archangels themselves. The invisible trail that the First Blade had cut into Gadreel's body burned faintly as if in recognition of the presence of one that was a part of the history that led to its creation.

"Ezekiel is dead," Gadreel argued, "He deceased in the fall."

"I am well aware, Gadreel."  
The smile on the older twitched, almost turning to a grin, and then faded.  
"I know my own demise. You do not remember yours, but you will."

Dead.  
Gadreel turned his eyes towards the forest, now surrounded by a promise of mist rising from the grass that they stood upon. The gold of sunset had grown to a blaze, and the angel did not know why he was watching the environment. Now he had the itch. He wanted to know, wanted to remember, because he could not believe.  
When he turned back to look at Ezekiel, he didn't doubt his identity anymore. There was a calm about the other that spoke of honesty and made Gadreel respect him without question. 

"Where am I?" the older finally spoke again. 

Ezekiel turned to look at the lake behind him.  
"By the doors to enlightenment, to unity. To true understanding."  
He shrugged.  
"To God." 

"God?" Gadreel repeated, feeling stupid and completely at loss, but through that - from that one name - a sense of desperation and hope sparked in him. 

Ezekiel's gaze lingered about him, caught onto the flower still present behind his ear, and then he nodded thoughtfully.  
"My orders were to be here when you arrive. To let you know," he said in a voice that matched the absentness in his expression, "but to not guide you further. I know a lot about you, Gadreel, but I was not put here to judge you based on any of that knowledge. And yet, I cannot help but find it - curious; once, you were one of those whom I looked up to. In the days of your glory, Gadreel, you were as much a legend as your downfall became afterwards. And when you fell, you fell to wear my name as a shield against the hatred of others. I cannot feel but honoured by such an expression of admiration. Am I truly something you wished to be?" 

There'd yet to be an occasion that would have made the sentry blush, but now he did, and his gaze fell to the grass to hide the shy expression on his vessel's form.  
"I was told the stories of your bravery," he spoke insecurely, "Your - dedication to the cause, and how devoted you were in the fight to protect those people, that village, against the Persian Hordes. How it was you at the head of the group that finally closed the Broken Gate to keep the archdemon from entering. How you broke orders to ensure that none fell, no man, no angel, and emerged victorious against implausible odds. I - I know why they call you a hero, and I - hoped I could be a fraction of what you were. I did not know of your death when I took the name. I thought I would get to apologize once I could stand on even ground with you; that you'd forgive me after seeing that we were not so different." 

"That I would empathise with your struggle?" 

"That you would know that I would never have a second chance to prove myself to anyone without someone guarding me in turn. So I took your name for protection, brother, to have someone when I had none." 

The smile that Ezekiel wore next was nothing but warm, a little pitying at worst. He sighed and turned towards the lake again, his side and the back of his head towards Gadreel.  
"As I said," the younger spoke, "it is an honour to serve as your shield, _wall of God._ Our brothers told me to look for guidance from an angel who did not betray us and turn from the cause, and yet I saw them turn from it themselves, even as they spoke. I thought you merely misguided - I don't know how I would have held my ground against Lucifer's words myself. I couldn't believe what they said about you, not after God Himself chose you to guard His most beloved." 

Gadreel felt cold and like his chest was crushing his grace within.  
"I made a mistake."

"You don't have to prove yourself to me," Ezekiel said in turn, "Though nothing could please me more than hearing the whole story - from the source. In return, you can have mine, if such a trade interests you."

 

* * *

 

Ezekiel showed Gadreel the path that would take him further. It ran through the forest towards the mountains that were now a darker part of the night sky; their conversation had spanned hours, as the history of creation to modern times was not a short account to recount from either end, not even Gadreel's, although his story came to a long halt that neither held much value nor stood out as something he wanted to share. He found telling the rest as relieving as he found the younger's story enthralling, and when they stood at the beginning of the path before parting for the time being, he felt lighter and more confident than he'd done before. His memory had, little by little, patched itself all the way up to the time when he'd been imprisoned again, and it did not take a clear picture to know what had transpired from thereon, although he recalled enough to have the whole story. It had left him with a hollow in his middle, but there was nothing he could do now: no one to ask about it and no one to tell him what the realm of the living was to become now. Ezekiel had promised him that in time, most likely sooner rather than later, someone else would enter this side of the veil and let him know.

"Follow this trail," the younger adviced him, "you will find one who wishes to see you."

Gadreel frowned.  
"Someone is waiting for me?" he asked. 

Ezekiel nodded.  
"He cannot continue without seeing you first. Unfinished business." 

"And at the end of the path?" 

Ezekiel examined Gadreel with a crooked smile.  
"I would not know, Gadreel, I am not the pathmaker. I do not create the path. You do. There will be others to guide you along it. But the destination, whether that is at the end or before the end or much after the end only, we'll speak again, and I look forwards to showing you around. You'll most likely find it familiar - this realm bears strict resemblance to what we all once called home." 

Gadreel smiled in turn; he couldn't help it.  
"I will meet you there," he said, and Ezekiel nodded again. 

"Your path will remain," the younger said with a light voice, "there'll be much to explore, many turns to take. Each will lead you to where you need to be, but it will take a long time to know in full. I've yet to take most of my own's twists and turns. It is where we come to be alone, to find those we've lost, and those with whom we share the most, but a lot of it is private for ourselves only. As a soul creates its own Heaven..."  
His words trailed off, but Gadreel knew what he meant. He felt nervous yet again: what'd wait for him ahead? Even more, _who_ could wait for him there?  
"I'm glad to finally speak to you. I was nervous," Ezekiel noted, "I feared I'd been wrong. But our Father knows, does He not?" 

Gadreel's smile sparked back to life.  
"You were nervous?" he repeated, unable to believe that. 

"Of course I was," Ezekiel replied with a raised brow, "You are my older brother. I did not know if I'd impressed, or if you'd disapprove. Go, now, or this talk will never end. I've overstayed."

Gadreel nodded.  
"How will I find you at the other side?" he asked. 

"You'll be overwhelmed and hoping you don't," Ezekiel replied vaguely, "I'll seek you out once the crowd dissipates."

 

* * *

 

The forest was dark, although the mist seemed to illuminate itself in the pale glow of the moon and stars above - the shapes of the trees and bushes were like black cardboard cuts amongst it, unreal and at the same time so present that Gadreel sometimes ran his fingers along their shapes just to reassure himself that they existed outside his mind. The path turned to a trail, but the trail was easy to follow, like he knew it by heart, and he continued along it feeling less lonely than he'd expected. Once, although the situation etched itself inside him as a memory that would never fade, a large male deer rustled in the forest just feet away from him: he turned his gaze to it and saw its round eyes glowing with pure white light. It stood there, alert to his presence, its antlers spreading high and wide in a grand manner that made Gadreel question how it could freely move in the forest without getting caught, but something about it told him it had no issue with that, that it would be gone in just a few leaps, never to be seen again. That it was not necessarily a deer at all, and something about it was familiar: when it disappeared, a pack of crows with the same kind of eerie lights in their eyes took on their wings and cawed their way into the night.

The forest was eventually cut by a thin river. Gadreel could hear it from distance, but it wasn't invisible to him either; the path rose up to a modest little bridge with orange paper lanterns propped along its shape to announce its presence, or perhaps simply for mood. And before that bridge was a figure - an angel with thin hawk's wings against his body as if in a protective cape, and a dim halo that instilled a sense of fear in Gadreel unlike most that could grow in him. He halted, the heart of his vessel's drumming in his chest like he was a rabbit frozen in front of a housecat, a cruel little thing that would tear him up for the fun of it. The kneeling figure seemed oblivious to him still, and he tried to remind himself that he was not a rabbit, he was a lion, a wolf, a bear, an eagle, and this brother of his would stand no chance against him in open combat.  
The years had served their purpose, however, and he still felt like he was as helpless as he'd been in his chains as this angel had cut into him repeatedly, enjoying each wound in his grace like it was a caress upon his own form, a word of approval from God Himself. 

Thaddeus.

He'd accepted by now what Ezekiel had told him and what he'd eventually remembered himself, that he was dead, and although this land seemed like it wasn't populated at all, it had to be a realm like Heaven was to human souls where those who'd parted from life appeared instead, but the realisation had never truly crossed the selfish border of the understanding that _he_ was dead. He'd accepted, subconsciously, that other dead angels would likely be found here, but at the same time he'd made the assumption that only _good_ angels would be here: that somewhere was an angelic version of perdition that he couldn't possibly have fallen into despite his horrid deeds, as Ezekiel would surely not be there. Now, however, as he stood by the crook in the trail and held his breath, eyes wildly skipping between the bridge and the back of Thaddeus that effectively blocked his way to it despite the younger kneeling by the river's bank next to it rather than in front of it, he was reconsidering the option. Maybe this was hell. Maybe the angel he'd talked to was not, in fact, Ezekiel (though he knew he was), or perhaps there was more to Ezekiel than what he knew (a much more likely scenario).  
Surely, _surely_ Thaddeus could not be in any stretch of a _better place_ , and, in retrospect - it should have been obvious - neither could Gadreel himself. He'd simply assumed that he deserved this, but he did not, of course he did not. He was a murderer, a traitor to his own kind and his cause, and he did not deserve reunion with God or his dead siblings, the past heroes of Heaven, or anyone at all. He deserved hellfire and another eternity of suffering. Well, it seemed he was about to have that.  
(Would that make it a heaven for Thaddeus?) 

Before he knew it, he'd moved. There was a certain desperate decisiveness in his steps as he approached the torturer, and the distance was done away with so quickly that Thaddeus barely had the time to begin to turn before Gadreel's both hands were firmly against him - pushing him - and in a flutter of wings, a collision of one of them with the bridge's firm wood, the younger fell into the river and Gadreel was already leaping onto the bridge.

The problem was that the river was not very deep. In fact, it was perhaps knee-deep here, and as taken by surprise as Thaddeus had been, he still landed with relative ease with a hand and two knees in the muddy bottom and the other hand, as a great disappointment to Gadreel, on the older's jeans.  
Gadreel staggered back, losing balance: his own wings spread to give him the extra chance that humans entirely lacked and perhaps he would have managed to stand up after all, if it hadn't been for the second tug and the arm wrapping around his leg to pull him right into the water as well.  
He did not land with half the grace Thaddeus had managed - instead, he fell on his side, the course splashing water over his face and into his ear that stayed above water after the wave of impact had already crossed over him twice, and he choked on he muddy water and struggled much too hard to get back on his knees. Water dripped from his shape and he was drenched to the bone when he resurfaced, and for some reason the whole situation had done away with his need to get away as fast as possible: in fact, it seemed to have drained him of reason entirely, so there he sat, up to his waist in water in the middle of a forest that was in the middle of a realm he did not know, with Thaddeus who was staring directly at him, watching how the hay-like dead hair of the other's vessel stuck to his forehead and how the mud stained his chin, knowing he probably looked worse himself.

"Not cool."  
The younger brushed the back of his hand across his nose and sniffled, mud now also staining that part of his face.  
"Not cool. You could have, like, said hi first." 

Gadreel felt the tension spread from his lips to his jaw and he struggled to stand up against the current that tried to throw him back in its course. He managed: clothes dripping, leather hanging heavy over the hoodie that had turned into a purse for water and jeans slick against his skin and pulling down by the sheer weight in them he stood there, staring down at the other angel and the tip of his blade burning at his wrist just waiting to be called forth. 

"C'mon. You murdered me, Gadreel, isn't once enough? I did some shit - I admit we weren't the besties I claimed - but y'know, it's not gonna get you on with this. I'm stuck here. If you kill me, we'll just end up at some other bank and then you'll kill me again and I die and we'll have to find the way to each other so that you can kill me again and this'll never end." 

"I could kill you a thousand times and it would never be enough. I would never cease enjoying it." 

Thaddeus shrugged. He still remained in the water, like he really couldn't care less.  
"Then go right ahead. I mean, if that's your idea of how you want to spend your eternity, I can't complain now can I? Hell, I didn't even get a blade to defend myself with. You got yours back, I see. But, despite all that bravado, I know you won't kill me. Not even once." 

"And why would I not?"  
The blade had slipped into Gadreel's hold and his whole being burned with the need to drive it through the angel sitting in the water in front of him. Thaddeus shifted and ran his hand through the water, fingers shedding the layer of mud and turning pale white in the night's light before he dragged it over the surface again and the fiery glow of the lanterns cast their more fleshy colours on him. He wasn't looking at Gadreel, he was looking at his hand, and everything about him seemed to match the (ragged, Gadreel noted) look of his vessel's; he seemed like a cocky little boy who'd gotten beaten up by the one he'd tormented and believed powerless against him. He was no god, and he knew it now. The fear that had so far resided within Gadreel's veins was finally dying down: truly, he was the one in control here. He had nothing to fear. 

"It's simple, you idiot."  
Thaddeus finally cast a look at him, but it was tired, not the usual piercing, mocking stare he'd spared for Gadreel.  
"You're not me, and you'll never be me. You're _better_ than that. You're - what was it again? A hero? Yeah, you're a - a hero."  
The mocking tone was still intact, although powerless against Gadreel. 

"You do not know me."

"Oh, but I do. I know you pretty well, Gadreel. You just don't want to admit it. Who was it that you poured your whole heart out the first time we met? How you're not guilty, you're innocent, how - how you love Eden, humanity, how you'd never mean to hurt them. How you're going to make it right, how you're going to - going to prove yourself to us, prove that we're wrong about you. ' _Trust me, Thaddeus; brother, please._ ' Oh, I remember that, and I remember the million other times you shared your deepest desires with me. I have a very good memory." 

The blow came instinctively, and Gadreel didn't recall making a choice on it. The blade's blunt end broke skin on the younger's cheekbone, then slammed again into his brow leaving behind a red streak that would swell and bruise. Afterwards came regret, a guilt that ate at his core, and which shamed him into looking away.  
He trembled, and Thaddeus said nothing, perhaps expecting another blow or the stab or just watching Gadreel live up to the insults: in the end, it didn't matter. The blade retreated back into Gadreel's grace and he swallowed, shook like he'd ingested poison, and stretched out his arm as he turned to look at Thaddeus. He held out his hand and realised he'd forgotten how to breathe, and Thaddeus now stared at his hand like he'd never seen a gesture such as the one in front of him now. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe no one had ever offered to pull him up when he'd fallen.  
Finally, hesitantly and suspiciously as if still expecting the stab or a further beating, the younger reached out and grabbed Gadreel's hand, and Gadreel pulled him up, turning to look away again the moment their hands had joined.  
When he let go, his palm felt like it had been stained by something much filthier than water. 

"I'm - sorry," he uttered to the forest.

Thaddeus kept staring at him.  
"You're... you're _sorry_."  
His voice was incredulous, and his expression anything but impressed.  
  
Gadreel glanced at him, feeling a twitch try an expression of disgust on his face.  
"You are right," he stated through his teeth, "I am not you, and I will never become you. I will not strike a brother who cannot defend himself. Not again." 

"Isn't this twice to date? Or more?"

"Not again, Thaddeus. Never again. I _am_ better than that." 

"So noble you are," the torturer huffed, blood trickling down along his jaw and mixing with the sand and the water on his face until the shade of it was see-through and full of dirt in the light of the lanterns shining from the side, "for a guy who just pushed me into the river and tried to make a run for it." 

"What made you bitter, Thaddeus? What power in this universe filled you with such hatred for everything?" 

The younger seemed taken aback by the question, but the expression of apathy returned upon him soon enough. He grinned, but the expression never reached his eyes that remained a shade deeper than Gadreel had ever witnessed them.  
"Nothing made me anything," he snickered, almost spitting the words, and the expression on him was strained and terrified, "You just think everyone's like you. That everyone's a hero. That the villains are just hurt. Nobody hurt me, Gadreel, so you don't have to pity me. I was never a hero. I never wanted to be one. I just like to watch you bleed." 

For the first time in his existence, Gadreel realised there were angels who'd spent much longer in the prison than he'd ever had to; that even though they had remained on the other side of the bars, the side that he'd always wished he could return to, they'd been just as much tied to it as he'd been. Where Gadreel had been chosen to stand by the gates of Eden, the most beautiful corner in all of creation, this angel in front of him had spent his whole existence in those halls with little contact to anyone on the outside: his whole world, his heaven, had always been limited to the silence of stone. 

The thought made him sick, and suddenly he could see the appeal of screams. At least they could break through the void.

 

* * *

 

Night turned to dawn. It woke up the hidden birds in the trees, and the mountains seemed to have grown larger during the dark hours even though Gadreel didn't feel like he'd made much progress since the river. He'd left Thaddeus there by the bridge, simply turned from him with few words in parting, sick to his stomach and dizzy from the thoughts stuck in his mind, and a part of him had truly been surprised when the other did not drive a hidden blade through his back the moment he turned, but he'd walked away entirely unharmed and heavy with much more than the weight of water in his clothes. Even that was now finally draining, dripping to the ground as he walked to nourish the trampled grass on the trail, and the chill of the morning bit hard through the moisture, holding onto it like it was a net made specifically to catch the cold within its fabric. It was odd to feel cold: odd that in here, in death, Gadreel would finally be suspectible to that, especially when the heat during the day had barely affected him. But perhaps it was the water that caused this; perhaps it was different from the waters on earth and in all the heavens he'd walked, and maybe this was how it worked. Perhaps this was a form of baptism, and he'd only fallen in the water because that had been necessary. He didn't know, and most of him didn't care, but in the silence amidst the chatter of the birds he entertained the thought regardless, if only to chase away the thoughts of imprisonment that still held onto him like shackles.

"Well if it isn't the chestnut."

The voice seemed to come out from nowhere, and it caused Gadreel to jump: all previous thoughts now shattered from him like frost from over a puddle at feet's landing or a mirror hitting cold stone floors, and he turned wildly about to see who'd spoken.  
This third angel was like neither of the ones he'd seen before, and when he stepped onto the path, Gadreel had no difficulty recognising him. Without hesitation, the younger dropped on his knee and bowed his head: before an archangel, Gadreel was nothing.

 "Oh, pfft, get up, you embarrass me."

Gabriel reached his hand out for Gadreel like Gadreel had previously reached out his for Thaddeus, but instead of despise there was kindness and amusement on the older's features. His grip of Gadreel was firm as he pulled the younger up and an unexpected flood of warmth rushed through the sentry: his clothes dried and so did his skin and hair, leaving no trace of the cold that had embraced him earlier. He still shook, but only because of the presence of the archangel's; he'd not seen one of them since Michael had stood at the front of the group of guards ordering his imprisonment. 

"How was the walk?" Gabriel asked him cheerfully, and Gadreel felt that this was a question he was supposed to answer: the tension did not lift from him as he looked for an appropriate answer.

"It has been strange," he finally, timidly, spoke. 

"Well, yeah, obviously - that's what you look like from the inside, 'course it's strange. Ready to join the flock, or do you still feel like aimlessly wandering around - uh - Yukon territory? Where _are_ we?" 

"I have no idea," Gadreel replied truthfully. 

"Okay," Gabriel replied and eyed him like he'd just claimed something utterly implausible and slightly crazy, "good. Usually you go somewhere you like, so I expected to find you from Eden, but this - this is pretty much not what I thought it'd be. You're creative, I like that. Well, anyway, been a while, hasn't it?"

Gadreel felt his lips parting but no words came out. Gabriel patted him on the shoulder and, on the last pat, dragged him forwards.  
"Come on, no one likes Yukon. Let's go home. Nice flower, by the way."  
His fingertips traced the forget-me-not still intact behind the sentry's ear and he winked.  
"I had a sunflower with me when I came. Let me tell you, it got in the way while I was trying to escape that casino. Long story, but I'll tell it to you while we walk, because it's _hilarious._ "


End file.
